This is the 400th post I have written for Little Merry Sunshine since July 1, 2007 - a short 16 months and 6 days! Congratulations to me! I have to admit, when I started, I didn't know if I'd have the discipline to write regularly. It's safe to say now that I was wrong. Writing LMS has given me a great outlet when I feel stressed or when I want to share something from my day or a soapbox to share my political beliefs. Sometimes I rely on others for my ideas, sometimes I simply reprint their posts if I think they can say it better than I can, but I prefer to share my own thoughts.
Today, for example, has been an incredibly stressful day. There's some stuff going on in my family that has taken a great deal of my attention and today was no exception.
Just when I thought today was a lost cause I called Nana. It's been a couple of weeks since I've spoken to her and as I've discussed before, she has been steadily going down hill the last couple of years. When I last spoke with her, she could say my name and also knew my voice, which was a vast improvement.
This afternoon's call took my breath away. As the nurse took Nana the phone, I heard her say "Frances, your granddaughter is on the phone." The next words I heard were from my Nana, "How's my granddaughter, Jessica?" A whole sentence! But it didn't stop there. We had a whole conversation and she didn't rush off the phone. She was 100% in the present, remembered our last conversation, and knew about the Presidential Election. I told her I was there, in Grant Park, and I could hear the smile on her face. We talked for about 5 minutes and I promised to call back in a day or two and I will.
I can't explain why after 18 months her voice is suddenly strong again, she is completely in the present, and she's no longer muttering incoherently. All I know is that it's a miracle. There may be some medical explanation, but I don't care. God does work in mysterious ways.
I've missed my Nana and although I know she will never be the woman she was again, I love having her mostly back.